


Progression

by mee4ever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous Age, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Hand Jobs, Hook-Up, Kissing, Locker Room, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, brief mention of Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: He's not even surprised when Fred plants a kiss on his neck or when George tugs at his hair, he just lets them, making him both riled up and gooey under their touch.Or the one where Oliver gets to relax. Again and again.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fred and George engage in sexual activities with Oliver at the same time, although they do not engage with each other other than talking. 
> 
> Somewhere along the line I got the ages mixed up. I chose to age them up but it's not really all that explicitly told in the fic. 
> 
> Also this is... idek what to call it, but it means it's not beta read or anything. Pretty sure the tense changes between the chapters, not unlikely it does within. I'm very aware.

They just sit him down in an armchair. Oliver goes on and on about the Quidditch and the practice and George pushes his shoulders down and keeps his hands on him, starts to massage the tension away. Fred seats himself in Oliver’s lap, making sure he cannot get away and dramatically drapes Oliver’s arms around him. Oliver just rants on and on and on. They move and touch and Oliver’s voice starts to fade at every other word and George tells him that they're not leaving until Oliver’s completely relaxed, and Oliver snorts that he's never fucking relaxed, so the twins nod wickedly between themselves before telling him that they could surely give it a fair try, at least?

But then Oliver remembers something he's forgotten and tries to stand up. The twins just usher him down again and when he tries to speak, Fred puts a hand over his mouth and Oliver finally actually looks at him. And he looks confused and maybe like the twins are playing a trick on him, and who knows, maybe they are, but George is not only touching his shoulders but his arms as well and up to his neck and down his shirt and it feels kinda good? Especially with Fred who's all but grinding against him, slow, slow, so it's not too obvious and Oliver finds himself actually starting to relax a little.

“See now this is much better,” George says when Oliver lets his head dip back and fall against the chair, eyes closed.

“Much better,” Fred echos as he trails his finger up underneath Oliver’s shirt. 

_ Much better _ , Oliver agrees inside his head because he's not about to prove them right, but his whole body is sparked and buzzing, yet he is more relaxed than he's felt in ages.

He's not even surprised when Fred plants a kiss on his neck or when George tugs at his hair, he just lets them, making him both riled up and gooey under their touch. He doesn't know when he got hard, or when Fred noticed, but the man moves his body enough to keep it so. Oliver’s lost, he's kneaded and touched and kissed and suddenly he leans back to capture George's lips with his own just because it seems like a good idea. Man, it is. But only for a minute, before both twins slow their movements, take their distance without moving fully away. 

“Now we're just gonna put this,” Fred says and takes Oliver’s hand, “right here,” he continues and puts their hands down Oliver’s trousers, "and then we're gonna leave it to you, chief." 

The twins stand up, moves away completely, and laughing they leave Oliver with his hand down his pants, with their kisses ghosts on his skin, and palming his cock like no tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah! Fred, George, been meaning to speak with you.”

Oliver finally found them in their otherwise deserted common room after he had been out flying for about four hours after curfew. The night before had taken a very strange turn and he'd been meaning to speak with them about it.

Fred rose first. “Coming for seconds, are we, chief?” he said and Oliver shook his head. No, no, not for seconds, for explanations. 

“I'm sure we can arrange something,” George continued before Oliver had time to open his mouth and the two of them were crowding his personal space before he could even remember what it was that he wanted to ask about.

Oliver had had... partners. Very handsy partners even, but never two. Never two at the same time, with hands that didn't wanna be still of even a second. It was heaven and hell because he was lit aflame in a second, but there was just so much he was trying to focus on that it wasn't really possible to focus anywhere. 

“Guys,” he said, only a breath. 

“Gotcha,” Fred said by his ear, placing his head on Oliver's shoulder like it was the most common thing in the world. It was of no use; Oliver just stood there, hands at his sides, a twin behind him, a twin in front of him, and he let them touch him, melt his body until they were the sole reason he still stood up.

“If anyone had told us this was the easiest way to shut you up, we'd probably started in the fourth year already,” George said and he caught Oliver's lip between his teeth afterwards. Oliver whined, and when he got the chance, he bit George's lip in return. The other man caught a surprised sound in his throat but quickly recovered. He laughed silently and kissed Oliver more thoroughly than he'd allowed last time. Oliver just let go. Let himself be felt and cuddled and kissed, not expecting anything really but enjoying all that was either way given. And the twins seemed to have fun. They laughed under their breaths when Oliver tried to speak when he almost fell over because his knees were weak (Fred caught him).

“Want more?” George asked, his hands around Oliver's waist. One of Fred's hands were trailing up Oliver's throat and the other one twisted in his hair. 

“Yes?” Oliver croaked. 

“Really?” Fred said and tugged, pressed. 

Oliver wheezed. “Yes, yes.” The beaters were going to be the death of him even off the field. Oliver swallowed when George's hand found its way down Oliver's pants because this was clearly a bit more than yesterday. He didn't exactly care and just went with the flow when George's fingers wrapped around him.

“You think he's doing alright there, Freddie?”

“Think he's doing just fine, Georgie.”

“Doin' jus' 'plendid,” Oliver slurred. He felt heavy with want, need, and the way Fred caught his earlobe between his teeth and the way George's hand moved, made him keen and twist in his place. He didn't know for what but it seemed that his body kept screaming for more. When he tried voicing this, he got shushed. Fred turned Oliver's head so they could kiss over his shoulder, and Oliver found it astonishing that the two kissed so differently from each other. George was an explorer; Fred was a fucking animal. It seemed George wanted to explore, say, different parts of Oliver's body. This became very apparent as Oliver felt him trail his mouth over his stomach, which was apparently not wearing a shirt anymore and Oliver couldn't for his life remember when it had disappeared. Everything was hands and lips.

Oliver cranked his eyes open and gasped into Fred's mouth as George released him from the rest of his clothes and  _ explored _ his growing arousal with his tongue. "Steady now," Fred said and the smirk on his face shone through the words brighter than a Patronus in a pitch-black night.

For a fleeting moment, Oliver thought of two things: how had he gotten into this situation, and what if anyone came in to witness said situation. He was quickly turned into other states of mind than “thinking” because George took him into his mouth and sucked at his head like it was a lolly and he was trying it out. Oliver put a hand in each twin's hair to not jerk with the sudden sensation of pleasure he was brought. It seemed George approved his tasting because he let all of Oliver slide into his mouth, dragging curses and moans between Oliver's and Fred's lips. It was mind-blowing. Fred kept him up steady, one arm locks under his armpits and well was that because Oliver leaned most of his weight on it. 

“George,” he said. Or rather, gasped. 

“He's George,” Fred said and indicated his brother on the floor.

“Yes,” Oliver nodded, “yes, I know; different freckles.” This seemed highly amusing to the brothers, Oliver couldn't see why. 

But George got off him, jerked him off slowly instead and said, “Yes, chief?”

“I might…” he said and swallowed. “You know, if you continue—” Needless to say, George continued. Fred gripped his hair tighter, forced him to bend his head backwards and display his throat, which Fred then mauled with teeth and as deliberately placed suction as his brother. Oliver felt it almost too much to handle. His body moved involuntarily as he chased down his release and he came begging for it, Fred shushing him. 

It wasn't like he blacked out, but he was sure that if he had been looking he would've seen nothing more than what he did with his eyes closed. He shook, he breathed harder than after chasing the bludgers after practice; his mind was a cloud. Fred petted his hair. George put his pants back on where they were supposed to be.

“Feeling quite alright there, chief?”

“Yeah, you look a little beat, maybe you should head to bed?”

“Think I'm falling,” Oliver declared. The twins didn't let him; they pressed him into a Weasley sandwich and Oliver laughed. 

“Bonkers,” Fred said.

“Completely off his rockers,” George agreed.

It was in this state, Oliver just barely noted, that a third Weasley entered the room. He hoped this one wasn't as inclined to get him off because he wasn't sure how much he could take in one night. 

“Ron!” Fred shouted happily. 

“Little brother,” George said, just as jolly. Ron, Oliver saw, looked more like an ashtray than a boy. He didn't make out exactly, or remember exactly, what Ron said then. It might've been “Bloody hell!” Or “I'm going to bed!” Or might even “You're going to hell.” In any case, he disappeared and left his brother's wheezing with laughter and their hands pulled more tightly around Oliver's body.

“See,” Fred said, “there's not much we can do to really surprise our brother any more.”

“Not much,” George agreed.

“So this is probably the best thing ever,” Fred continued. Oliver nodded. 

“Sure,” he said. “You can surprise him anytime you want.”

Oliver could feel the twins giving each other a look. “Duly noted,” they said.


	3. Chapter 3

“Blimey,” Fred said and Oliver didn't very much care for his amused tone. 

“Agreed so,” George said and Oliver hated how that sounded as well. Truth be told, he didn't much like anything right now; losing to Slytherin? Third time in a row? His team was supposed to be better than this.

“It's not your fault,” George supplied like that was helpful. Oliver kicked an empty bucket that flew all the way across the locker room. 

“'My fault'?” he hissed. "Of course it's not  _ my _ fault! Did you not see how badly everyone was playing tonight? And Harry! That little... He's supposed to catch the snitch, ain't he?”

The twins raised their eyebrows. “He's twelve, chief,” George said. 

Oliver threw his hands up. Like that mattered! He'd been put on the team because he was good at catching the bloody snitch, did it matter how old he was? Oliver just barely caught the glance the twins threw between them and he suspiciously stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Boys,” he said. 

“Chief,” they responded. 

“I don't know what you're planning, but it better be Quidditch-related.” 

Fred huffed; George grinned.

“Don't know what else we could dream up,” Fred said and rose from his seat at one of the benched. Oliver pointed his finger at him from a bench away. 

“Really, with your nagging, I'm surprised I don't dream about Quidditch more often,” George said and stood too.

“I think you should... stay back there,” Oliver said, his arm still outstretched and now he flung his hand around to indicate the brother's whereabouts. 

“Really?” Fred asked. 

“Really really,” Oliver said. Fred didn't seem to care, neither his brother, and they rounded each side of the bench. Oliver, casting glances between the two of them, decided that it was best to try and flee, and jumped over the bench to place himself where the twins had just stood. The twins were trying to hide smirks when he looked up at them, and they were doing a very poor job at that. 

“Quidditch,” Oliver said again. 

“We weren't thinking about anything else,” Fred snickered.

Without further ado, the twins jumped over the bench, much like Oliver had done just a second before, but Oliver didn't have time to move. The Weasley's were crowding him, one from each side, one leg each between Oliver's. How did he manage to get himself into this position over and over? Granted, he might have actually given them blanket permission to... well, do things to him that would surprise their brother, but he was angry right now, okay, upset over Quidditch; the love of his life.

When two sets of lips pressed to his neck, he was rethinking the whole "love of his life" thing and decided that maybe one could love more than just the one special. The brothers kept one hand each on his chest, and one hand each on his back. Oliver wasn't sure where his own hands were, but it didn't seem to matter to them, so he let them be somewhere in the mix. If he was being perfectly honest, he didn't even want to continue thinking about riding a broom, Fred and George managed to make him think about riding other things. He'd never really been one for sex, even less so in a locker room, but his mind did wander. It stopped and shut off when Fred licked his ear. And he didn't do it carefully, or politely, but full-on wet every single part of it that he could find and Oliver, despite his best efforts, flamed red on his cheeks.

“Taste good,” Fred concluded and Oliver just gasped. Felt good, he wanted to say but Fred caught his mouth before he could. 

“Smell good,” George said, his nose nuzzling at the crook of Oliver's neck and shoulder, and Oliver bit into the kiss because he didn't know what else to do. Hands were trailing down his body, Oliver realised, front and back, and soon enough underneath his shirt, two hands scratching with blunt fingernails, and two just roaming with diligent precision. They made sure he lost the shirt and Oliver didn't have it in him to stop them. He wanted to give up everything right then and there, he could've, if they'd just asked. He would've told them his deepest, darkest secrets; he'd have admitted to having fallen in bed with Flint that  _ one  _ time. They didn't ask. At least not that. 

“Wanna have some fun?” they asked instead. 

"Wanna feel good?" Fred asked instead. 

"Wanna come so hard you can catch the stars instead of that damned snitch?" George asked instead.

Oliver's “yes”s disappeared in breaths, in whimpers, in kisses. They took turns like they'd planned how they were supposed to do it, to find his mouth with their own and once one of them left to chew on his ear lobe or lick at his chest, the other one would come up and sweep in. Like earlier times, Oliver felt the tension draw away, his anger replaced with a lazy pulse of want that turned more feverish the more this went on, the further down his pants hands were tracing. It was safe to say that when Fred's fingers clasped around his cock, and George's cupped his balls simultaneously, Oliver had never felt more in somebody else's' hands. He drew a breath through his teeth, hissing positive encouragements though they weren't very well needed. He was freed from his clothes; pants pushed down to his ankles, underwear mid-thigh, and the sudden rush of cold disappeared almost immediately as Fred worked his erection up to a mind-numbing speed. If he wasn't so frozen in place, so steadied by two bodies which didn't seem to leave room for any imagination, he would've tipped over. Now, the only thing he did was letting his head fall backwards, lips parted on an "oh" he fought hard to keep down.

“Do you think he's liking it?” Fred asked, clearly not intending the question to Oliver. 

“Think he's enjoying himself fairly,” George responded. Oliver bit his lips and groaned agreeing. Fred now pumped him slow and steady, bringing his face to Oliver's ear. 

“How you liking that?” he purred and drew back a few quick strokes which left Oliver speechless.

Yet, he tried speaking. “Fantathic,” he drawled. Fred kept tugging him, biting at every spot of Oliver's face he could get his teeth around, and George sucked a hickey the size of a snitch onto his neck. They were synced enough so that everything worked but not alike enough that it got weird; Oliver wanted to congratulate them on a set up well done. Instead, he moaned quietly. The sound made both brothers press a little harder, move a little quicker. Oliver wanted the whole thing to last forever, but he could already tell it wasn't even gonna last much longer. George kissed him again, slow, deep, in comparison to his brother's fast and short strokes at his cock, it was mesmerizing. Behind his closed eyelids, Oliver rolled his eyes back. 

“Fuck,” he murmured into George's mouth and George laughed.

“Maybe next time,” he said and Oliver came, over Fred's hand, over his own stomach. He let himself just breathe for a couple of seconds, George disappeared from his side but soon enough Oliver froze and looked down. A toft or red hair was down by his lower stomach, and Oliver's eyes bulged as he realised George was licking him clean. He looked up, and Fred was tracing his tongue around his own cum dripping fingers and wearing a smirk smugger than Oliver had ever seen. 

“Taste good,” Fred said again before offering his hand out to Oliver in a “wanna try?”-sort of gesture. Oliver just stared at him so Fred shrugged and finished off each finger with putting them into his mouth and pulling them out with a 'plop'. It was the sexiest fucking 'plop' Oliver had ever heard, and it was just a Weasley twin of course that could make something so ridiculous, so very hot.

“Use—” Oliver said before stopping. Fred gave him a curious look. “Use  _ me, _ ” Oliver said. “Anything, everything.”

“Anything, huh,” Fred said.

“Well, everything,” George said and shimmied up. Oliver didn’t notice any of them freeing themselves of clothes, he was captivated with the open and intrigued look on George's face, his shiny lips and half-grin. Fred’s arms came up around Oliver, hugging his stomach tight, his cock aligned upwards against Oliver’s ass. George’s hand came to guide Oliver’s fingers, made sure they wrapped around his cock tightly before letting go in favour of holding Oliver’s face and snogging his socks off. 

Oliver couldn’t do other than comply. 

He arched into Fred, but other than that, Fred did his own bidding. He rolled his hips, cock trapped between their bodies, between Oliver’s cheeks. His forehead rested against Oliver’s neck, his breath coming out in puffs, cooling the thin sheen of sweat on Oliver’s back. The action was nothing Oliver would’ve exactly thought of but it was a perfect alternative to anything else they could’ve done.

George required more attention, more finesse. He was pressing up against Oliver, almost too close to even be able to jerk him off, but somehow they managed. How Oliver kept his focus sharp enough after his orgasm, Fred getting himself off with Oliver's body and George's persistent kissing, to actually jerk him off, only Merlin knew. But he did. Blissfully aware of how hot it was that they'd just agreed, how they'd just needed a little encouragement to take whatever it was they wanted, Oliver heated up just thinking about it, and being in the middle of it made him shake. George tore his lips away, just enough so that he could breathe, cut off breaths, his eyes tightly shut. Oliver egged him on, stroke him quicker, wanting to catch every sound coming through him with his mouth. He must've made sounds himself, throaty and ragged.

Fred unexpectedly came first. Panting and digging his fingers into Oliver's sides, he shot hot ribbons of cum between them, up Oliver's back and smearing it with his own stomach. Oliver gasped. That, in turn, made George stop breathing, and he came too.

“Fuck,” Fred muttered under his breath. He pressed against Oliver still, movements eradicate only to involuntary little spasm. The whole side of his face was pressed between Oliver's shoulder blades, and Oliver quite liked him there. George sagged against him, mixing whatever was left of Oliver's own cum with his own on both their stomachs, not caring in the slightest. 

“Fellows,” Oliver said. 

“Yes, chief?” they answered but they'd never sounded so compliant. 

“Showers,” he said. 

“Hot, steaming shower,” George said and sighed as if he dreamt about one. 

“They're just over there,” Oliver said, flailing a hand, accidentally dripping cum on the floor. He didn't care. 

“Only if I can soap you up real nice,” Fred demanded. 

Oliver had no problem with that.


End file.
